TSP: The Epic Rewrite Preview Edition
by Jared Head
Summary: One line of code can change millions. Morales become irrelevant. Silence is golden, but yelling is platinum. Tell him exactly what he wants to hear, and your chances are better. Jorcy Black is in too deep, and he is the only one that can save himself.


**Author's Notes: A small little preview in to what I hope will turn into a story that can garner a lot of attention for being written on a high level of craftsmanship as opposed to the irrelevant ideas like character based love-relationship fics and rewrites of old ideas. TSP was good, but this is what it would be like if it was perfect.**

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**TSP: The EPIC Rewrite**

**By Jared Head**

**Prologue**

**Massive Attack – I Am Home**

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"You've really botched it up now Ranzor," he yelled, practically foaming at the mouth. He picked up a sheet of paper and began to read aloud from it, "Test subjects are experience breakdown in genetic material leading to highly fatal physical and psychological mutations, sometimes accompanied by the breakdown in digital genetic material on a molecular level, causing subjects to disintegrate slowly while remaining painfully aware of their slow death," he threw the paper at Ranzor in frustration.

There Ranzor sat, a twenty-something in a lab coat, arms crossed and face uncaring with a slick smirk. He watched his associate pace back and forth, hardly caring as to what he wanted him to hear.

"Do you realize what using your technique has caused? Mass panic, total mistrust in all means of society. I've heard that they now want to revert back to the lives they use to live. We're about to lose the greatest thing we have ever created, and it's all because of you preferred to use a technique that saved time instead of one that thoroughly exami--!"

"I don't think this is entirely my fault," Ranzor fired back, "Unforeseen errors always come up in any situation where there can be thousands of variables that are unaccounted for and can not be predicted."

"True, but what about playing God?"

"When you play God, you also gain the consequences of being God. You reap what you sow," Ranzor spit out harshly.

"And what exactly did you sow…God?"

The look on Ranzor's face changed immediately from casually comfortable to decidedly worried. Caught red handed no doubt. His silence was talking louder than he wanted it to.

"I see you've discovered the problem of Project U, if you could even dare to call it a problem."

"Then what would you like to call it? A great redemption? The smoothest concealment we've ever seen?" his associate leaned forward, claws on the table, eager for the answer.

"Actually, I consider it the greatest line of code I've ever written," Ranzor defended, "No one before has been able to make death such a convenient matter until I came along. Sure, you can remove the code now and continue on with this project, but then again, who says I haven't already thought of that?"

Ranzor's associate pulled a folded paper out of his lab coat and threw it at him. The look he threw with the paper invited him to look what was scribbled on it.

"Can numbers be of any significance?" he prodded. Ranzor took the paper with a grudging swipe. Unfolded, there was a long number written on it with purposeful intent.

_17,898,457_

"Numbers like these?"

"No, that specific number."

Ranzor took a long pause, coming up with the perfect answer.

"No. It holds no significance to me."

"Really?" his associated pressed, "So the number of digimon your self-proclaimed 'greatest line of code I've ever written' has killed holds no significance to you?"

Again, Ranzor answered with nothing.

"You really think you're something don't you?"

"I do ac--."

"I, frankly, don't care what you think you are or how great you may falsely perceive yourself as being. My main concern isn't gutting you like how everyone wants to that works on this project. Hell, just wait till the populace hears about it, I'm sure you'll come crying back to us and begging for our torturous mercy. But let's get passed that. You want to know why I'm even still talking to you? I want to know why. Why the hell can one do such a despicable thing?"

"Because," Ranzor started, only to stop. He had to think quite a bit about what he was about to say, as they would be the words that would define his cause, "I think this violates all the morals we hold."

"Morals?"

"Yes. It violates all moral code of conduct to try and map a genetic genome. Also, my next move will violate my own moral code."

"Your next move?"

With an arm pulled back, Ranzor's associate had no time to move. Throwing a punch, but keeping his claws open, it allowed his talons to spear him in the head. He flipped him over onto the table, talons still skewered in his head.

"Yes," he said drawing close to his former friend's face, "My next move."

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_In the event of an emergency Edan, we'll need you to secure the area as you lead a squad. Your training in the Designated Forces division in your earlier years can be of great help to us if the situation arises._

As those words reverberated through the Guilmon's mind, he concerned himself with keeping his squad of Commandramon in line.

Edan, a Guilmon, was aiding in developing the most advanced prosthetics to help out those who survived the process of Project U but were left severely disabled (an arm missing here, two legs disappeared there). Considered the leading man (er…"mon" I mean) in his field, he had just finished a system allowing those who had been blinded or lost their eyes to see once again. He took pride in his work and felt that his obligation was to help others out before he needed to help himself.

Now, he was leading the charge with the Commandramon. Called in due to a "threatening disturbance moving into the armory". Obviously, someone was going to look for a weapon system. The massive metal door to the armory arrived much too early for anyone's nerves.

"Alright, you guys know the drill!" he yelled, "Shoot first! Kill second! Questions are third, but optional!" he assured in his lighthearted manner. Even in the moment they all had trained for, he still had to keep people's nerves in check with a joke.

Edan swiped his key card through the reader, and the monstrous door slowly thundered open. Skillfully moving in, the Commandramon began to shoot in a clearing pattern.

"M16 Assassin!" echoed through the room, followed by an even louder blast of their M16-esque rifles firing in every direction they faced. The sound as enough to be felt in everyone's chests. When the smoke cleared, no one could be found.

"Got him!" one of the camouflaged dinosaurs happily proclaimed.

"EVEN SHOT!"

A hail of metal blasted into all of the Commandramon. The horrendous noise of bodies being torn apart fell onto everyone's ears just before the solid rain too ripped them. Edan had jumped out of the room just in time, back against the wall and thoroughly winded. He looked up in time to see Dr. Ranzor standing there with a massive handgun like weapon, barrel pointed at his body.

"My next move," he proclaimed, "is to end your sorry life."

Those two terrifying sounds ripped, in this case, the air. Edan could feel pieces of his body being removed, falling to the ground and spattering into their data fragments, evaporating into the cold, dry air. The feeling of one's own body being ripped to pieces is similar to that of a unnerving falling sensation while, at that very moment, being set ablaze by someone who is also adding a gratuitous amount of salt to lemon juice and throwing it into your wounds.

As the life within began to fade away, he could hear Ranzor opening fire on whoever was coming in his sight. The soft thud of bodies beginning to pile up echoed down the long hallways, alerting those who were inbound of what was awaiting them.

Ranzor, it seemed, was an unstoppable and possibly god-like force.

He looked around at what appeared to be thirty bodies around him and let out a roar of triumph. His purging operation was going better than he could have ever hoped for.

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End file.
